


Heart's Desire

by Castielslostwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate 14x13, Alternate Canon, Alternate Episode 300, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Castiel in costumes, Coda, Coda 14x13, Crack Treated Seriously, Dean Cries But That's Canon, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester's heart's desire, Episode: s14e13 Lebanon, Explicit Sexual Content, For reasons that are spoilery, Gay Sex, Get Out Sam, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Poor Sam Winchester, Sam tries to protect the books from witnessing the gay sexings, Swearing, The Pearl that grants wishes, Was literally supposed to be all crack but then somehow feelings and a dash of plot crept in, wings are sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 22:59:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17713280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castielslostwings/pseuds/Castielslostwings
Summary: A non-John version of how Episode 300 could have gone. Because we all know Dean has some OTHER desires buried deep in his heart...The angel just watches as the shirt hits his chest and drops to the floor. “Enough, Dean,” he growls. “Tell me what is going on, right this instant. You’re lucky that Jack and I weren’t hunting when I was pulled here, or he could have been killed. So what is this? How did I get here, how are my wings healed, and why am I dressed like…”“Liberace’s Ken doll?” Dean offers helpfully.“Dean,” Castiel warns, but Dean just shrugs.





	Heart's Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Otherwise known as the fic that should have been complete crack as it was based solely on the idea that instead of John coming around the corner, it was Castiel wearing only a speedo, cowboy hat & boots and a stethoscope. But apparently, I can't write Destiel without feelings creeping in, so. Here we are!

"It's one of eight ancient Chinese treasures. It's a pearl that grants wishes, sort of," Sam explains. "Well, technically, it's supposed to give you what your heart desires."

Dean looks at Sam skeptically but accepts the little round object when Sam drops it into his hand. When his fingers close around it, he tries to concentrate, thinking that he should be able to sense the magic within if he tries hard enough. Not that Dean’s any kind of gem or precious stone expert, but the pearl seems to look and feel pretty darn normal. It’s satiny smooth against his skin as it rolls between his fingers and if Dean’s being honest, he likes the sheen. It’s pretty, almost reflective even, with a rainbow shimmer when it’s held up to light at the right angle.

“Well,” he says, “That would be Michael out of my head.” Sam nods and makes a gesture with his hands like, _get on with it already, Dean_ as if these things don’t _always_ come with a hitch or a caveat or, Christ, cosmic fucking consequences. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“Just, focus on your heart’s desire,” Sam encourages him, and Dean opens his eyes to glare until Sam puts up his hands and backs off.

 _My heart’s desire,_ Dean thinks. _Easy enough. Michael out of my head, Michael out of my head. Having my own head all to my damn self. No one accidentally getting a peep at my goddamn fantasies. Michael out of my head._

Suddenly, there’s a rush of wind that ruffles Dean’s hair and almost pushes him off balance. Except, that’s impossible because they’re _inside_ and underground in the bunker. “What the f-” Dean’s cut off by the bunker’s alarms sounding and its red lights blinking in warning. _Something is here._ “Sammy!” Dean calls out for his brother, trying to pin down his location between bouts of darkness and flashes of red.

“I’m here Dean, I’m just-” It’s Sam’s turn to be cut off as whatever he’s saying is lost beneath what sounds like thunder crashing overhead. Again, impossible, because _inside._ Across the room, a tall, shadowy figure appears, backlit ominously by the blinking red lights. Something about his shape is awfully familiar, though Dean can’t quite… He stops dead in his tracks when he realizes he’s been inching closer to the newcomer, just in time for the entire library to explode in a shower of sparks. Dean ducks and covers, but his hair still gets a sizeable amount of glass in it, which he shakes out to the best of his ability.

Thanks to whatever that power surge was, it’s pitch black in the library now and he has no flashlight, no idea where Sam is, and no way to keep track of the _thing_ that just appeared inside their home. Plus, he _just_ took his gun out of his pants not five minutes ago, and it’s sitting on one of these tables somewhere, probably already in the hands of the home invader from (maybe literal) Hell. _Fuck his life._

But then the thunderclap sounds again and Dean raises his head in time to witness the most glorious sight he’s ever laid his sorry eyes on.

Turns out that _thing_ is no “ _thing”_ at all. It’s fucking _Cas,_ which explains the weird sense of familiarity _._ And he’s standing on the other side of the bunker library lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree with his own heavenly light, two absolutely enormous black wings stretched out to either side of him. And while the shadows on the wall behind him look just as they did the first time Dean laid eyes on them back in that barn in Pontiac, these wings are much more than a suggestion or some kind of holy reflection from the great beyond or whatever. From where Dean’s sitting, those babies look to be as flesh real as Castiel himself, solid and inky blue-black and _fucking gorgeous._

Castiel’s eyes flash grace-blue bright and then the room goes completely dark again.

Dean creeps carefully forward. “Uh… Cas?” He knows his voice is tentative, but this version of Cas didn’t exactly look like any he’s seen before, and _cosmic fucking consequences, remember_?? He’s about to call out again when a hand touches his shoulder, making him yelp and jump like three feet into the air.

“Dean! Dean, relax, it’s just me,” Sam says from behind him, and Dean socks him in the arm.

“Why would you do that?!”

“Sam? Dean?” Cas’ voice - _and it is Cas’ voice, thank fuck -_ filters through the darkness and Dean breathes a sigh of relief.

“Hey, Cas, yea it’s just us,” he answers. “Can’t you do something about this light situation? Mojo the bulbs all better or whatnot?”

There’s a moment of silence as Castiel seems to hesitate before replying, and when he does he sounds strange. “Um, I seem to be… I have… I’m not sure that repairing the lights would be in my best interest presently.”

That’s enough fucking around for Dean, who still isn’t sure whether Michael’s actually been evicted, and if he has, where the hell he went. “C’mon, Cas, angel up. We already saw your wings so it’s no big deal, nothing to be embarrassed about, alright? Just turn the damn lights on and then we’ll figure out the rest.”

“Well, it’s just that-”

“ _Damn_ it, Cas, stop being difficult!”

“Fine,” Castiel growls, snapping his fingers and returning the bunker to its normally lit state.

In the darkness, Dean had gotten turned around and was no longer facing Castiel when the lights came back on. Instead, it was Sam he laid eyes on first. “You know,” he starts, “I don’t think I feel Michael banging around anymore. Shit, you don’t think this might have actually worked?” But Sam doesn’t answer, staring past Dean with his mouth hanging open and an expression plastered on his face that looks like Dean just handed him a lifetime’s worth of brotherly blackmail material _and_ a subscription to a Kale of the month club. “Sam. Sam!” Dean waves a hand in front of Sam but all that does is make Sam’s eyes flick over to Dean’s face, which then results in him dissolving in a fit of giggles. _Giggles._

Dean raises his eyebrows in confusion and finally turns to see what all the fuss is about. When he does, his mouth goes completely dry, and the reaction in his pants is the literal opposite. Castiel’s wings are still out but they’re tucked more demurely behind his back now, and with the lights on and the wings no longer stealing the show, Dean realizes there is a _lot_ about Castiel’s current state that he somehow failed to notice. Suddenly it becomes abundantly clear why his friend was reluctant to fix the lights.

For starters, Castiel’s basically naked. Well, he’s got a speedo on. And a Stetson. And cowboy boots. And, for some reason, a stethoscope wrapped around his neck like some kind of weird necklace. But that’s _all._ Dean knows that he’s staring, gaping even, but he’s finding it impossible to look away. _Maybe that’s part of… whatever this is? Some kind of… forced… attraction… jesus fuck._ Even as the thought passes through his mind he realizes how stupid it sounds. No, this is just him, staring down the barrel of every single one of his wet-dream fantasies all rolled into one. All rolled into _Cas,_ actually, which is like, a hundred times hotter and therefore a hundred times worse.

And Castiel is just _standing_ there, his face pinched in confusion, eyes squinted and sizing Dean up, one hand resting casually on his hip _as if that were a fucking thing Castiel, Angel of the Lord does._ God he’s, he’s fucking perfect, like something out of a GQ spread, all cut muscles and sharp hip bones and Dean definitely does not tilt his head and take in the sizeable bulge at the front of that speedo, no he does not. And he’s _tan;_ perfectly, flawlessly, “no visible lines” tan that you usually don’t see outside of a Sports Illustrated _._ Dean’s pretty sure that Jimmy Novak was never this close to a beefcake, and he looked like he spent more time under a low-watt desk lamp than the sun, so where did Cas even get the idea to jack his body up like this? Dean finds himself honestly thankful that Castiel usually wears so many layers because there’s no way he’d have been able to focus on saving people and hunting things if he’d realized _this_ was fighting by his side.

“Jesus Christ, Cas,” Dean manages to wheeze, and that sets Sam off again, only worse this time. He glances back to see his asshole brother fall to the floor in a dramatic heap of laughter and hair, slapping the tiles and muttering something about “heart’s desire.”

“Fucking _shut it,_ Sam,” he hisses, and fortunately Sam seems to be too busy cackling like a schoolgirl to elaborate on his apparent theory. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop Castiel from overhearing and asking about it.

The mostly-naked angel takes a couple of steps towards the two of them, and Dean panics. Reflexively, he backs up blindly in an attempt to get away, startling himself when his ass hits one of the tables and causes him to trip and sprawl wildly across the top. He covers extremely poorly by rolling to the other side and standing back up as if nothing had happened. Castiel rolls his eyes, and how is it possible for him to look so intimidating wearing _so little?!_

“Dean, what is going on?” Castiel’s voice is demanding and irritated now as he glances between the two brothers.

Dean licks his lips and tries to regain control of his sanity, no small task when Cas’ pec is flexing seemingly on its own and _what the fuck is wrong with him?!_ It’s just Cas, it’s just his best friend, he can pull himself together long enough to at least get the guy in some clothes.  

“Clothes!” Dean blurts out that _genius_ idea without making even the slightest attempt to acknowledge Cas’ question. “We should -- clothes you. For you. Before… with the talking,” he says with a nod and a weak attempt at a smile, like that’s going to fool anyone. Sam makes a noise that sounds like he’s choking on his tongue, and Dean kicks him in the side. “I’ll just… you know what? Have this,” Dean offers, unbuttoning his flannel and shrugging it off quickly before balling it up and throwing it at Castiel.

The angel just watches as the shirt hits his chest and drops to the floor. “Enough, Dean,” he growls. “Tell me what is going on, right this instant. You’re lucky that Jack and I weren’t hunting when I was pulled here, or he could have been killed. So what is this? How did I get here, how are my wings healed, and why am I dressed like…”

“Liberace’s Ken doll?” Dean offers helpfully.

“Dean,” Castiel warns, but Dean just shrugs.

While Castiel is talking, Dean’s managed to figure out a way to focus on the middle of his forehead in order to collect his thoughts. Though while he may now trust himself to speak, he’s not about to let Castiel in on what he’s slowly realizing went down here. “I dunno, Cas,” he lies, focusing on the wrinkle in Cas’ brow. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Of course, it’s then that Sam manages to pull himself together and drag his giant Sasquatch body back into an upright and locked position. “Oh no, you don’t,” he grins, and Dean covers his eyes with his hand in defeat, peeking out nervously between two of his fingers. He watches as Sam produces the Pearl and hands it over to Castiel, who scrutinizes it carefully. “You wish on it,” Sam announces gleefully. “It grants you your heart’s greatest desire, Cas. Isn’t that _fascinating_?” Sam waits smugly for Castiel to connect the dots, and his smile widens as Cas’ eyes raise from the Pearl back to Dean, though he doesn’t yet reply. He looks down at his own body and seems to contemplate for a moment before returning his gaze to Dean.

Dean shifts uncomfortably, finally dropping his hand from his face. _Time for damage control_. “Cas, it’s not what you think, I --”

For the umpteenth time in the last hour, he’s cut off abruptly. “Sam, I think you should leave us,” Castiel says lowly, and it doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

Sam’s eyebrows raise. “Wait- here? You’re not going to…”

“Sam.”

“But the books-”

The lights flicker and the bulb above Sam’s head smashes. As Sam takes the warning for what it is and bolts for the door, Dean’s torn between the desire to flee right after him and following the lead of his dick, the latter of which is _extremely_ interested in having a naked Castiel direct some of that intensity his way. Preferably with the boots still on, but he’s not _that_ picky.

As soon as Sam’s disappeared around the corner, Castiel’s wings flap once and just like that he’s inches from Dean’s face. He has to keep his head tilted up or the brim of his hat will knock Dean in the eyes, and the position shows off the long, taut column of his throat. Dean swallows heavily.

“This... is your heart’s greatest desire, Dean?”

“Uhm… I mean, I’m pretty sure it was getting rid of Michael.”

Castiel frowns and places a hand on his head. “Hmm,” he says, and then he’s whipping through Dean’s mind like it’s a card catalog from the public library. With anyone else, this would undoubtedly feel invasive, but considering the circumstances, Dean doesn’t even flinch. “He’s gone,” Castiel proclaims after a few moments. “I don’t feel him at all. It’s just you in there.” He says the last part a bit more softly and with a half smile, and Dean can’t help but smile back.

“You sure?”

Castiel nods. “I am.”

“Where’d he go?” Dean’s stalling now; he knows it, Cas knows it, but fuck, this isn’t easy for him.

Tipping his head to the side and regarding Dean carefully, Castiel bites his own bottom lip and drags it through his teeth. _Holy hell._ “A problem for another time, perhaps,” he says so quietly that Dean reflexively leans in a bit, bringing them almost nose to nose. “It would appear,” he continues, “that your heart had more than one great desire. Lucky for you,” he nudges Dean’s nose with his own, “the Pearl seems to have granted you both.”

A warning sign lit up in neon flashes through Dean’s mind and he forces himself to draw back from the heady, intoxicating draw that is Cas’ body, his scent, his soft touch. “Wait,” he squeaks out. “Not like this.” Damn his moral compass, damn it to hell. “I don’t - is this a spell? The Pearl, it’s making you do this, right? I’d never do that to you, Cas,” he finishes somewhat breathlessly. It’s crushing, but necessary. Pearl or no Pearl, he can’t take advantage of Castiel like this. He never wanted that, not even in his darkest desires.

But Castiel just laughs and steps closer again. “Dean, you are a very intelligent man, so don’t act like an idiot. You never needed that Pearl to have me, and I think deep down you are aware of that. Though, the outfits…” he looks down and palms a hand over his hip and down the front of the speedo, “These I would not have thought to try.”

Dean’s eyes go wide and it takes him a minute to process the implications of what Castiel is saying. “You- you're sure? How do I know you’re not just saying that because of the magic?”

“An angel’s will cannot be harnessed in that way. You should be reasonably able to verify that with all you’ve witnessed over the years regarding my kind.”

And sure, that’s a great idea in theory, but Dean’s brain went offline sometime around when Castiel started feeling himself up. Because while Castiel may be an angel, _he’s_ only human, and standing before him _are_ all his wildest, darkest, deepest desires come to life and made flesh. And since he’s being honest, he has to admit that it’s not just the roleplay costume stuff, it’s _Cas._ So in a somewhat out of character move, before he can think and rationalize his way out of this, he’s surging forward and _taking._ And then it’s all kind of a blur of ripped clothing and so much skin, Castiel’s lips hot on his, his tongue in his mouth and Dean’s hands everywhere. In the back of his mind, Dean wonders how it’s possible that Castiel could be so good, _perfect_ even, at this. His movements are sure, his hands the opposite of clumsy or fumbling as he takes Dean apart, seeking out and finding every vulnerable spot, every piece of him that craves Castiel’s touch, his affection. But beyond that- Castiel’s wild, animalistic almost at times, swallowing Dean down and fingering him gently and then straddling his face so that Dean can return the favor.

By the time they’re both completely naked and Dean’s laid out on one of the tables with Castiel sinking down onto his cock like a fucking pro, Dean’s completely lost and in awe of how many _things_ they’ve just done- he’s never had sex like this before _._ It’s so much, and yet it feels like it could never be enough. He grips Castiel’s hips with both hands and thrusts up into him in a way that punches moan after moan from the angel’s lips. Dean watches in mesmerized pleasure as Cas throws his head back and flattens his hands on Dean’s chest for leverage, his beautiful black wings stretching and flexing and flapping slowly in the air to help him balance. He’s _stunning,_ and this is - Dean couldn’t have imagined it more perfectly inside of his own head, and fuck if he hasn’t tried. Castiel just exceeds every expectation and hope he’s ever had for their theoretical first time, and it’s not even over yet. Dean reaches up to pull him down by the back of the head and kiss him deeply, hot and open-mouthed. He’s right on the edge, _right fucking there_ and like a mindreader, Castiel does something with his hips and his hand that makes Dean whine and groan and come harder than he has in years, his vision whiting out as he shakes and finishes inside him.

When he comes to, Castiel’s standing at the end of the edge of the table by Dean’s feet. The expression on his face is one of immense confusion and concern, his wings are gone, and somehow he’s fully clothed, trenchcoat and all.

Dean sits bolt upright and looks around, already having a sinking feeling about the way this is going. If there weren’t copious amounts of come on his chest and… in _other_ places, he’d have thought the entire ordeal some kind of lucid dream. And really, perhaps it still was. “Cas?” Dean’s voice is rough and unsure.

Castiel reaches out to put a hand on his knee, but he pulls away. “Dean,” Cas says, his voice full of worry. “What- Are you alright?”

“I’m naked,” Dean gulps, rushing to grab his clothes and pulling them back on, pants first.

“Yes, I see that,” Castiel replies, but that particular fact doesn’t seem to be what he’s concerned about. “I… Jack and I just got home. I heard you… you called for me. Or, at least that’s what it sounded like. I found you like this on the table… Dean, are you sure you’re alright?”

Catching sight of not-Castiel’s Stetson laying on the floor next to his crumpled flannel, Dean is about a thousand shades of _not alright,_ unable to even bring himself to look Castiel in the eye. “Fuck, Cas,” is all he can say. “I just need to…” And he grabs the pearl and bolts, without even finishing his sentence, taking off for the shower room and spending the better part of an hour scrubbing himself clean and trying to erase the memory of having everything he ever fucking wanted in his arms. Before getting out he smashes the pearl with a bottle of body wash, rinsing the remnants down the drain, his dreams swirling away alongside them.

After stepping out of the shower and swathing himself in his oldest, comfiest sweats, Dean flings open the door to the shower room to find Castiel standing there blocking his path. Blushing fiercely and angry at himself for doing so, he tries to brush past him but the angel refuses to budge. Instead, he lays a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder and holds him in place. Dean glares at the floor.

“Sam filled me in,” he says softly.

Dean feels his eyes start to prick with angry, humiliated tears and makes a noise that’s somewhere between a snort and a sob. “Well, that’s… that’s just fucking great,” he fumes. “Listen, I don’t need your pity so if you don’t mind,” he makes an attempt to push past Castiel and again, he’s stopped. “Let me _go,_ Cas, I’m not in the fucking mood,” he growls, doing his best to keep from blinking and therefore spilling tears. 

“No,” Castiel replies calmly, but firmly.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean breathes, looking up at the ceiling. “If Sam filled you in then you should know that you’re the last person I want to be around right now.”

Castiel’s unflappable. “I really don’t think that’s true,” he responds, perfectly even. “Dean, I -”

“No,” Dean cuts him off, shaking his head. “Nope, we are not doing this. Not now, not ever.”

His eyes dart accidentally to Castiel’s face, and he’s unable to look away as he watches it darken. “Dean Winchester, you are infuriating,” Castiel rumbles, and then he’s pushing Dean against the wall and kissing his mouth.

And this time, it’s not perfect, and that’s how Dean knows that it’s real.

Castiel’s awkward, his lips pressing too firmly, his teeth knocking against Dean’s when he parts his lips. He gets spit all over the side of Dean’s mouth and is so overly enthusiastic that he knocks into Dean’s nose so hard it makes his eyes water. He seems to have no clue what to do with his hands, and he steps on Dean’s foot in his haste to bring their bodies close together.

 _This_ is _fucking_ _real_.

“Cas,” he whispers, his eyes filling with tears for a completely different reason as relief washes over him.

Castiel pulls back and looks him in the eye. “I apologize for not replicating the outfits.”

Dean huffs a broken laugh. “I never want to see those things again,” he admits, hesitantly letting his hand drift down Castiel’s flank, inside his coat. Castiel smiles and leans into it, and Dean can’t help but start to get caught up in his feelings again, kicking himself for being so stupid, so gullible, when obviously _that_ Castiel wasn’t _his_ Castiel because his Castiel is… well. _This_ is his Castiel, and somehow he’s in Dean’s arms, and so maybe at the end of the day, cosmic consequences don’t always have to turn out _all_ bad.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Castiel chastises. “You didn’t know. It’s flattering, really.”

“It’s not fucking flattering, it’s idiotic,” Dean retorts.

Castiel shrugs. “It’s very romantic.” He pauses and looks up at Dean from under his lashes. “Would you ever have told me?” He doesn’t have to elaborate.

Taking a deep breath, Dean lets it out slowly. “Maybe. Probably when one of us was imminently dying, though.” Castiel knocks his shoulder with his own and draws Dean in close to hold him tight. Dean goes willingly, nestling his head into the crook of Cas’ shoulder. “I thought…”

“I’m here now,” Castiel murmurs. “Everything is alright.”

Dean’s suddenly exhausted, the events of the day and if he’s being truthful, the last few months weighing heavily on him. They still have much to do. Michael is out there somewhere, there’s Jack’s dwindling soul to consider, and there are still any number of regular old demons and ghosts and everything else that goes bump in the night to worry about. But not tonight. He pulls back without another word, letting his hand slide down to fit inside Castiel’s. This Castiel’s never held hands before either, and he’s slightly awkward about it as Dean leads them down the hall to his bedroom. When they lay down together, it’s obvious that he’s unsure what to do, and Dean’s never loved someone more. He lets Castiel gather him up and pull him to his chest, and that’s how he drifts off to sleep.

He’s _almost_ out when he hears Castiel’s voice sift through the dark, and a pang strikes his heart as it reminds him of earlier in the library. “I know what you said before about the outfits but, I do think it’s a shame you’re completely throwing away your _heart’s desire,”_ he smirks, and Dean has half a mind to pinch him for making fun. “I was thinking that perhaps we should replace that tainted memory with a good one. A real one.”

Dean’s eyes are open now, and he has to admit, the idea of a do-over is appealing. “No speedos,” he warns, his eyes narrowed, and Castiel chuckles, shaking Dean’s head where it lays on his chest.

“I think I would prefer lace,” he suggests innocently, and Dean’s eyes go wide.

“That… could be alright,” he coughs out.

Castiel runs his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Go to sleep Dean. I’ll be here when you wake.”

Dean lifts his head to look into Castiel’s eyes. “Promise,” he demands with more vulnerability than he’s ever intended to show _anyone_ , but this day has changed a lot of things.

Castiel cocks his head to the side and regards Dean seriously. “You are my heart’s deepest desire as well Dean, and I love you. I will _never_ not be here when you need me. My greatest regret is not telling you sooner and thus contributing to the pain you experienced today. I hope that you can forgive me.”

Dean’s cheeks burn with Castiel’s honest words, and he buries his face back into his skin. “Yea, sure Cas, ‘nough chick flick talk, it ain’t your fault.” He’s quiet for a moment and then adds, “But if you _really_ wanted to make it up to me… that lace thing, I’d be, you know. I’d be okay with that.”

When Dean finally does drift off to sleep, it’s with Castiel’s cheek pressed against the top of his head, and visions of pretty blue lace panties on firm, masculine cheeks. He should have known from the beginning… his heart’s desire was never some stupid costume. It was always about who was in it. _That fucking pearl. Lesson learned. Nothing EVER comes without consequences, magic never works without a price._

 _Still,_ he thinks, as he’s lulled to sleep by the sound of Castiel’s beating heart and the warmth of his skin pressing against Dean’s, _it was worth it._


End file.
